Series: Sherlock BBC
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings:indirect m/m smut, some language, naked people, not brit-picked, non-beta'd
Disclaimer: All characters and series belongs to BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss
A/N - Well, this plotbunny hit me over the head today while I was singing in the showers. Funny things, these epiphanies, they come at such unreasonable times. Forgive me, I'm new and I have no British blood or a beta whatsoever, so mistakes beware!
Chapter One: The First Step
"Who'd want me for a flatmate?"
When he told Mike Stamford this, he was more than serious. Past twinkles of sympathy appeared in Mike's eyes. After all, it was Mike who received the brunt of his woes back at Bart's when the trouble all started.
The last time he'd said the exact same phrase to Mike, he was drunk, near sobbing, and throwing beer cans at a fire hydrant. He was pretty sure he fainted somewhere on the way back to the dorms too. And the worse of it, as Mike had phrased nicely, 'the misfortunate greeting with the lamppost'.
"You're the second person to say that to me today." The first few milliseconds, John had thought he was just trying to be reassuring. But Mike had a victorious look on his face, as if he'd just scored the last goal for the team. Now, this made John curious. He's had too much failures to even begin counting, he really shouldn't put too much hope into it.
But Mike always had a good eye for John.
"Who's the first?"
...
Mike stops him a few steps from the door. "Ok, let me make this clear first. He's...a bit eccentric."
John tilts his head to the side, signaling that he wasn't getting it. Mike sighs.
"Eccentric, as in worse than Liliana."
The message finally gets across and John groans at the name. Out of all seven disastrous flat shares he's experienced, Liliana was probably the least terrible. But absolutely horrifying none the less.
Liliana Crisanti was an aspiring chef, proud lesbian and feminist. Living with her had reminded him of his sister back in the days before the alcohol fiasco. It was during his graduate training that he moved in with her. She was cheerful and all smiles and he honesty liked her, despite her force feeding experimental dishes to him at every available moment. And it was during that time he'd thought his bad luck had finally ended.
That is, until six months later when he's woken up in the middle of the night to find her completely naked and covered from head to toe in caramel sauce.
"Look, I've made a mess, John. Help me clean it, will you?" she had all but purred at him. His instant thought had been that she's drunk but John's had enough medical training to tell what drunk and sober looks like.
So the only intelligent thing he was able to rack from his brain was "You don't like men."
"I know," she says, half sighing, half moaning. "See what you've done to me?" Oh god, it's my fault again, he yells in his head frightfully. And he throws himself from the room and into the night, never looking back.
"He's a chef?" the doctor asks, feeling a little weak. Mike laughs, patting him on the shoulder.
"No, no, I would't do that to you mate. He can be a bit rude, just...well...try not to take it too personally."
"With my experiences, I'm not sure I can be surprised anymore."
...
Sherlock Holmes, more or less, slaps him the face and makes him eat his previous words back completely.
"Yeah, he's always like that."
John was still trying to choose between feeling angry or intrigued. And that damn hopefulness was acting up again.
But, this Sherlock Holmes, he was definitely different. Maybe, just maybe, this will work.